1/021: And you can lean with it.

[wheatdos]

[Nothing like some music to go with your day.

Go on Paradisa; it will certainly be a sight to see all of the preparations that are being made for the queen, surely. The sights, the smells, the new people... but there was one thing that would probably cut right through your little observation fest. It'd be hard to do whatever you were doing without hearing a distant drone of a particular beat, echoing down the halls.

God forbid you be near it's source.

THIS IS BEING PLAYED EXCEPTIONALLY LOUD.

.

And by exceptionally, it was really loud.
Obnoxiously loud.
Find all the synonyms for "really" and put it before loud and you'd get how loud he was.
The kind worth covering your ears to to keep your ears from bursting.

Cue Wheatley, walking in, a boombox balancing perfectly on his shoulder as he grinned a row of diamond plated teeth.

Nothing out of the ordinary here.
He's singing right along too.

It's best if someone tells him to turn it down.]




Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Comments

[cheerupemoborg]

[Diamonds?? Where'd he even get those? How did he get them in his mouth?!]

What are you doing?

[wheatdos]

Oh you know.
Just chillin'.
Layin out some beats.
Gettin' my music on.

S'wrong? You don't like it?

[cheerupemoborg]

No, actually. I don't.

Especially at this volume!

[wheatdos]

H-hey man! Calm down. Ain't no reason to raise your voice.

[He turns it down like 3 dials. It's softer, but still really loud.]

That coo'?

[cheerupemoborg]

No. I'd prefer it off.

[wheatdos]

[He laughs.]

Aha. You a funny guy, ain't ye?

[cheerupemoborg]

How is that funny?

[wheatdos]

Ain't nobody gonna tell me to turn off my beats.

[cheerupemoborg]

Well, I am.

[wheatdos]

Well I ain't.

[cheerupemoborg]

Too bad.

[Hank doesn't move, and yet, the volume on the boom box seems to be going down...]

[wheatdos]

Wh-what??

[He looks at the boombox and then hits it a few times, pressing a few buttons randomly-- when it goes down the whole way, Wheatley, if he can be called that at all, gawked and furrowed his brow. What the hell man??]

Wh-what... what you do??!?!

[cheerupemoborg]

What do you think? I turned it down, obviously.

[wheatdos]

You're cramping my style.
Put it back.

[cheerupemoborg]

You're doing that to yourself. No.

[wheatdos]

Come on man! I ain't do nothin' t'you!

[Toggling with the beatbox.]

I don't like nobody touchin' my stuff, man.
You like a party killer.

[cheerupemoborg]

Your ears will thank me later.

Now, what is all this? It must be a loss, correct?

Why am I even asking, it's not like you'd be able to know...

[wheatdos]

Yeah.
Loss my beatbox cuzza you.

[His eyes narrow.

Still hung up on that.

Yeah Hank. Wheatley would have never normally spoke in such an aggressive tone to Hank. He was so dumb and friendly. Have you met GLaDOS yet?]

All a' what?

[cheerupemoborg]

[He motions to Wheatley.]

All of this! It's ridiculous.

[wheatdos]

[He looks down at himself and then back at Hank.]

You wearin' yo' underwear on the wrong side a yo' pants and you got the nerve to tell me I look ridiculous?

[cheerupemoborg]

It's not underwear you buffoon, it's a part of the suit!

[wheatdos]

[He suspiciously moves back to look Hank over, narrowing his eyes.]

I don't know man.
I ain't tellin' you how to dress but that ain't what it look like.

[cheerupemoborg]

You're one to talk.

[wheatdos]

Ay, this is style.
I got extras if you wan't em.

[cheerupemoborg]

I'll pass, thanks.